


A Thieves Dance

by markblckthorne



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Canon is fake, F/M, I'll add more tags as i go, RIften's my city now, but for now it's just a massive revenge plot and self indulgent plotting, but really, casual annoyances to friends to lovers, for now it is simply friends to lovers, that will come too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markblckthorne/pseuds/markblckthorne
Summary: Rachelle Amsel used to be at the top of her game back in Cyrodile, but after a bad stroke of luck she found herself in Skyrim with no allies, no money, and no respect left to her name. With her family on her shit list she has one goal, get back to Cyrodile and raise hell. The problem is she’s stumbled her way into the local Thieves Guild, and it turns out she loves it there. The pay is great, the jobs are easy, and there’s one certain redhead she’d die before admitting she may think he’s more than just tolerable.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Canon is a lie and so is Skyrim pretending you can beat the game in two weeks in game. My city ruled by my headcanons.

**Chapter One**

Rachelle walked through the streets of Riften ragged and tired. The brides and wooden walkways running throughout the city weren’t in much better condition than her. A month on the road without a way to really bath, and sleeping with one eye open out of fear that some Imperial soldier would find her and recognize her from the botched execution (or worse, wanted posters back in Cyrodile) kept her from looking anything other than vile.

Her boots were caked in mud. The scaled armor she looted off some bandit who decided she was an easy pick fit her poorly, sagging in some areas and pinching and chaffing in others. Her tan skin was redder than anything after weeks in the sun and some unfortunate trecks through the sulfur pits of the Rift. If it weren’t for her near decapitation after the betrayal of her family that led to this necessary road trip from hell, she’d say things couldn’t get much worse. But they could. They always could. At least right now she still had a head and could find a way to stab her father with the knife he stuck in her back. Only a little less metaphorically.

First, she needed a nice hot bath and to get rid of a few weapons she had… acquired from her business. Riften was the best city to find buyers for these particular items. Funnily enough, not may smitheries wanted what looked like an Imperial sword with the seal melted off. The Fences out here though wouldn’t bat an eye. If she could find them that is.

“Looks like you’re in need of some coin, lass,” a thick accent drawled to her left. She didn’t know who had said it, just that she could feel their breath on her neck so there was a good bet they were too close.

Quick as a flash she turned around and had her dagger pressed discreetly against the stranger’s appendix. No one besides the two of them knew it was there. She could now see the tall and well kept Nord that stood in front of her. His hair was nearly as red as hers, and there wasn’t a bit of shock in his blue eyes about the dagger perfectly positioned to slice him naval to nose.

“Is that any way to greet a potential business partner?” he asked.

“It is when you’re in a city of thieves,” Rachelle answered, keeping her voice low to avoid drawing attention. She wasn’t an idiot. It’s hard to be in her line of work and not know all about the criminal capitols of Tamriel. “Besides, calling me a potential partner implies I was interested.”

He smiles at this. If there was any doubt he was untrustworthy before (there wasn’t), there certainly isn’t now. The slight bit of pride in his eyes and the sarcasm in his voice washed it all away.

“Now lass, I’m offended,” he teased. “You don’t really think I’d swindle a smart woman like yourself when you’re down on your luck.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you know about my luck?”

“I know you’re down to your last few septims. Probably can’t even afford a night in one of these overpriced inns.” He nods towards one of the sags in her armor. How did he know she had stitched her coin purse there? It was hidden precisely to prevent pickpockets and cocky shits like him from seeing it.

“I don’t think my current wealth is any of your business,” she hissed, pressing the knife against him a little harder. A stitch on the quilting of his coat popped. The stranger's smirk only grew.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. Everyone’s wealth is my business.” God did he really just use that line?  
“You’re a walking cliche aren’t you?” Rachelle asked. “A thief saying other’s wealth is his business? Are we living in some sultry novel noble women clutch their pearls over and I just don’t know it?”

He leaned in. Their foreheads were practically touching, and (as much as she hated to admit it) Rachelle couldn’t help but notice he smelled quite nice for a man living in a sewer of a city. Almost like honey. He definitely wouldn’t say the same for her.

“Only if you want to be, lass,” he says with the same damn smirk on his face. She was ready to smack it off but settled for a groan and a roll of the eyes instead.

“Who said I was a thief in the first place?” He asked it as if she had only accused him of eating the last cookie, not of being an outright criminal.

“The fact we’re in Riften, you’re the only person who seems well off here, and that you could spot a hidden coin pouch from across the square before coming to talk to me.”

“So you’re a perceptive one are you? We could use more people like that in our line of work.” She wouldn’t call it perceptive, just having a brain.

“Who said I’m your line of work?”

“The talent I could sense that brought me over here is who told me.”

She couldn’t help but scoff again. “Do you ever tone down the sleaze?”

“I like to think of it as charm.”

“Well, it isn’t,” she said flatly and sheathed her knife. “Now if you don’t mind, I have my real business to attend to.”

She turned to leave, figuring the exchange was over when she heard the distinct jingle of gold. Instinctively she reached for her pouch. It was still there, but then who was so callously bragging about their wealth in the middle of a square full of beggars?

She whipped back around to find the tall redhead tossing a hefty pouch of gold up in the air and catching it time and time again.

“I suppose you don’t want this then?” he teased. “I guess you’re just not as talented as I had thought. Nervous you might get caught I suppose.”

“I do not get caught!” Why was she being so defensive? Who cared what this man thought. She was here to sell some swords and get out before heading back to Cyrodile for some quick vengeance.

“Get caught? I thought you said you weren’t a thief, lass.” Shit, he got her there, and damn if he wasn’t a smart ass about it.

“Okay, you win. I dabble in some undesirable activities from time to time, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to help you.”

He quirked his head to the side and gave her an equally crooked smile. “Not even for some extra gold and a hot meal on the house.”

Rachelle opened her mouth to turn him down for the final time, but her growling stomach cut her off and would have made it seem much less sincere.

“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll help, but only to prove to that I. Don’t. Get. Caught.”

“That’s what I like to hear, lass.”

She held up her hand to stop him. “I will do it on one condition. You quit calling me lass.”

“Well then what can I call you, miss…?” He trailed off, leaving a question that she didn’t know the answer too.

She can’t give him her real name. Thieves aren’t known to be all that trustworthy. Honor among thieves? Complete bullshit. Another pickpocket would sooner sell you out for some extra cash than help you hide from the guards. Only she wasn’t hiding from some guards and her name was worth a lot more than some average swindler in Riften.

“Amsel,” she finally said. “Just Amsel.”

“No first name, Amsel?” he prodded. Guess the man knew his Imperial surnames. Good thing her’s was as common as a Nord named Lief.

“None that you need know,” was all she said in return.

He nodded his head, pondering if a small job was worth working with a pain in the ass.

“Alright Amsel, let’s get down to business. Name’s Brynjolf, and I hope your morals don’t prevent you from sending innocent men to prison.”  
It was her turn to smirk. “Please, how do you think I made my money in the first place?”

* * *

 

Ten minutes later Rachelle had heard Brynjolf’s ridiculous scheme to rob the Argonian jeweler and was now squatted behind his stall, picking the cheapest lock she’s ever seen. It took her no time, and the strongbox wasn’t much harder.

It took more effort for her not to laugh at the ridiculous crap Brynjolf was peddling. “Falmer Blood Elixir?” She could tell that the man had seen some things, but he certainly hadn’t gone out slaughtering snow elves for some a cure-all. The only thing worse than him thinking people will buy that shit is that they actually were.

He was in the middle of talking about side benefits to a healthier life, such as never having to worry about displeasing your partner ever again when Rachelle stood back up and signaled to him the ring was stolen and he could shut up. She watched his brow furrow. Rachelle was still at Madesi’s stand, nowhere near the dunmar he wanted her to frame.

“Now you might be thinking,  _ that can’t be it? _ And I have to say I agree.” His tone makes it clear he does not agree that her job is done. “It’s an expensive potion, but can you really put a price on a long and healthy life?”

He falls back into a spiel, but Rachelle doesn’t budge. She could easily go and hide it in the other merchant’s stall, but that was to easy. This Brynjolf guy had the nerve to imply she was afraid of getting caught and she was going to prove that she doesn’t get caught. That incident involving a headsman’s ax was a fluke and he did not need to know about it.

So, for now, she sat on the stone wall surrounding the market listening to the spiel. She even through in an “Ooo” here and an “Awe” there for good measure. Might as well sell the crowd in hopes of getting a cut of the sales. It was another ten minutes before he had to finally accept she was not following the plan.

“Well then, now that you all know what you’re missing out on you can just come and talk to me when you’re ready for a better life.” It was a weak end to what Rachelle had to admit was a pretty great pitch, but she couldn’t blame him. As far as he knew she stole a ring and was keeping it for herself out of spite.

The crowd he had gathered begin to disperse, allowing Rachelle to make her way over to Brynjolf for her payment. On her way over a few of the other merchants bumped into her. The one massive blacksmith even managed to knock her straight in Brand Shei, their wonderful target.

The two fell to the ground, Rachelle on top of Shei and an annoying elf on the bottom.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” she apologized, making sure to not lay another hand on him as she got up.

He grabbed the edge of the nearest stall to get off the ground. He was glowering, or at least Rachelle thought he was. She watched him during Brynjolf’s speech. It very well could have been that he was just constantly in a sour mood.

“I’m sure you are,” he snapped, dusting himself off.

“Are you alright? She tried her best to sound sincere, but he was not making it easy to feel bad for him. She reached out to help, but he just waved her off.

“I’m fine,” he snapped before storming off muttering about how they just let anyone in the city these days. Behind his back, Rachelle flashed a not so kind gesture and returned to Brynjolf.

The Nord didn’t look any happier than Shei. In fact, he looked much angrier.

“That wasn’t the plan, lass.” he snapped. “That was barely even half the plan.

“You said you’d quit calling me that.”

“You promised to do your damn job. Promises get broken.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes, but not this time.”

“What do you call that mess then?” he guffawed. “You took the ring for yourself!”

“Did I?”

“You did!”

“Then explain that.” To prove her point she gestured back to Brand Shei’s stall. Two guards were now standing over him barking orders to open his lockbox and turn out his pockets. Sure enough, a silver ring with an amethyst inset toppled from his coat to the cobblestone. If the guards looked closely they could see even Madesi’s signature printed inside the band. Brand Shei wasn’t going to be in the market place in a while.

Brynjolf stood next to Rachelle, his lips just barely parted. If she had to put money on it, Rachelle would bet that’s as close as the man got to outright standing there with his jaw hanging open. She couldn’t help but straighten up, ready to preen.

“So… where can I get that hot meal and a pile of gold?”


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Rachelle sunk into the steaming bath at the Bee and Barb. Brynjolf really did pay well. Turns out the hot meal also involved a nights stay in a private room at the inn. She would have been fine with a bowl of soup from one of the street mongers and enough gold for a night in the bunkhouse across the street. Either Brynjolf was more impressed with her than he let on, or she had to rethink this whole living on the run thing.

He had made her a pretty nice offer. She was still going to be in town for the next day or two, and he said if she wanted more work to find him at some place called The Ragged Flagon. She had asked the Argonian who drew her bath where it was but he just shook his head and told her to stay far away from there unless she wanted to wake up with no belongings to her name.

She laughed at the thought, blowing bubbles in the water as she did. Little did he know she’s already done that, but this time she wouldn’t lose her most valuable possession. Her pride was already gone. It’s funny, you go into one line of work expecting to garner respect, but instead, it costs you everything and nearly gets you executed as a traitor to the Empire.

But she wasn’t executed and was now resting in a hot bath with a full bottle of wine within in reach, so who was the real winner? She took a swig from the wine. Oh, the winner was definitely her.

* * *

 

The following morning Rachelle left the Bee and Barb searching for this mysterious bar that people seemed so afraid. She didn’t understand why. Sure, it was full of apparent criminals, but if they’re all as shocked as Brynjolf seemed to be yesterday by her ability to do a simple job then they can’t be all too threatening.

After the third person this morning told her to keep her nose clean and avoid the place if she wanted to go unnoticed, she decided it was best to just look for it on her own. One woman, Mjoll or some equally obvious name for a burly Nord woman, practically threatened her for asking, accusing Rachelle of being a criminal and a thief herself and exactly the kind of person she’s trying to keep out of Riften. Now she wasn’t wrong about the criminal and thief part, but it didn’t mean Rachelle appreciated it.

So now she was crouched in a graveyard looking for some hint of a criminal underground because if they were using such lazy lines about how “knowing wealth is their business,” well then why not hide in the most cliche place possible She was about ready to give up when she found exactly what she was looking for. Engraved on a lone stone tomb, clear as day, was the thieves cant symbol for allies. This had to be it. But then… where was the guild?

“Odd... would’ve expected a few living people,” she muttered to herself while brushing the dust from the marking. As she did it shifted, pressing into the coffin. Before she knew it the tiles beneath her feet were receding and a short staircase leading to the tomb below appeared in their place. A divines awful grinding sound filled the air, and she was sure all of Riften could hear it as the stones scraped to a halt leaving her with a clear path to a small and simple sewer cover.

“Cliche after cliche,” she tsked. “It makes it almost too easy.”

She headed down the stairs and the coffin slid back into place over her. Just enough light filtered through the uneven stonework to allow her to lift the lid into the sewers below. The stench wasn’t all too welcoming, but the prospect of gold was enough to entice her.

See after a bit of thinking last night, Rachelle had realized that it was gold was quite necessary if she was ever going to get her revenge. She couldn’t very well make it to the Imperial City in stolen, bloody armor with only two septims and a near broken hunting bow to her name. She’d either die from exposure, starvation, or the Imperial Legion managing to find her again. None of which were that great of options. So with a deep breath and a prayer she wasn’t jumping directly into the vile sewage of Riften, she squeezed her eyes shut and dropped down to whatever waited below.

Her boots slapped against the slick stone floor below much to her relief, and when she opened her eyes she was surprised to find not a cramped, filthy, repulsive sewer, but rather a massive domed room, lit in an eerie green glow, and full of beds, chests, and more along the edges. In the center was a stone dais floated above a pool of the foul water she had expected to fill the room. Four bridges connected it to the outer ring of the room where she stood.

She was shocked, never would she have expected to the central hub of all the city’s waste to be so eerily beautiful. She couldn’t help but gravitate to the dais against her better judgment, slowly making her way across the cavernous room, gaping at the details.

The room was open, she should’ve been able to see anyone else there, but that meant they could see her too. And they did. She wasn’t even a step onto the first bridge before the wind was knocked from her lungs and she found herself with her face pressed against the cool stones and a knee in her back. She jerked, trying to fight off whoever it was, but they were bigger than her, much too big for it to do anything other than bruise her ribs with their weight.

“I’d stay down if I were you,” a voice drawled over her. She wanted to tell them she didn’t have much of a say in that, but when her head was yanked back by the hair and she felt the cold steel of a dagger on her throat she decided it was best to stay silent.

“Oi, who the hell is that Thrynn?” another voice called. “Sapphire back already?

“Nah, we got a sneak with us, Rune,” the man, Thryn, on top of Rachelle called back. “A lovely one, but a sneak all the same. Shame we aren’t all that welcoming in these parts. So tell me, what’s your name?”

She stayed silent. He traced her jaw with his dagger. She could just see it out of the corner of her eye. It was jagged, dark, and chilling. It had to be of Orcish make which meant one thing. He wouldn’t have to make a clean cut to kill her. Those blades were meant to cause enough minor wounds that your aim didn’t have to be perfect. He could miss her jugular and still manage to kill her all the same. 

“I’d get explaining if I were you.” His mouth was against her ear. His breath was hot, wet, and told her it was certainly possible to smell worse than the sewage itself. 

“I’d love to explain myself,” she said, voice wavering ever so slightly from strain. “But there seems to be a knife to my throat.

This only lead to Thrynn pressing it harder against her neck. She felt a droplet of blood roll down her neck before splashing onto the stones.

“Well, then I’d get used to staying quiet, cause it ain’t movin’ until I get some answers.”

Great another idiot.

“How am I supposed to give you answers if you won’t move the knife to let me speak?” 

The pause that followed was strained. Rachelle could practically smell the smoke coming from Thrynn’s head as he thought through what she said. She felt pressure from the knife decrease ever so slightly, and then…

“You know I think she has a point, Thrynn,” Rune called from the other side of the bridge.

Thrynn’s head snapped up. Rachelle watched his attentions leave her in their reflection on the water. He was distracted. She was free.

“You think I don’t know that!? True or not you shouldn’t give the sneak any cred-- AHHH!” He never got to finish the thought before Rachelle was able to grab her own dagger from her hip and drive it into his thigh. The second he screamed and reach her for his leg she was free.

Quick as a whip she threw him off of her and into the water below. Back on her feet, she ran for it. She had to get out. Whether or not the symbol had promised safety didn’t matter. That is not what she had found. She was halfway across the bridge when an arrow flew and lodged itself at her feet.

“I wouldn’t run if I were you.” A wood elf stood stepped out of the shadows of one of the archways lining the room.  _ Shit, _ she hadn’t even seen him five seconds ago. How off her game was she? Was this damn room just cursed or something? Either way, she had an arrow aimed at her heart and nowhere to go. Other thieves were beginning to block the bridges, that Thrynn guy was standing in what proved to be two feet of water so swimming away wasn’t possible, and that was it. She was out of options. She didn’t have much of a choice. She put her hands up in surrender.

“Smart girl,” the elf said, arrow still drawn. Smart elf, a moment's hesitation and she had enough knives on her to get out. She just didn’t trust herself to throw one before the arrow hit its mark.

No one came any closer, they just kept her exists blocked. It was like they were waiting for something to happen. Actually, waiting for someone. After a painful eternity standing there red-handed, a shorter man stepped into the light. The way the others parted it made it clear he was much higher up than they were, if not the leader himself.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” He drawled. His gruff voice only sounded worse echoing in the cavernous room. “How on Earth did you manage to find our base of operations, but get caught five steps in?”

Rachelle gritted her teeth. “I don’t get caught.”

The man grinned, slowly approaching her. Now that he wasn’t hidden in the dark it was clear he was a Breton, and short even for them.

“Oh really? Then what, may I ask, is all this?” He gestured to those surrounding them and the multiple weapons aimed at her heart. It really wasn’t her finest moment.

“It’s a minor inconvenience,” she answered. “Oh, and if you don’t want people finding your little secret hideout, don’t put thieves cant on the most obvious grave marker in town and have it be so loud that even Soviengard knows where you are. It isn’t very sneaky.”

He looked her up and down. She must not have looked like much because the next thing he said was, “And I’m sure you know all about  _ sneaky _ .”

“You’d be surprised.”

His eyes narrowed. He paced around her, examining every inch of her. Not in a way that made her uncomfortable, but in a way that made it clear he wasn’t buying a word she said.

“Mercer, the bitch stabbed me. Just get rid of her already,” Thrynn said after a particularly prolonged silence.

“Thrynn,” Mercer started, his voice taut with annoyance, “Sometimes you need to remember information is more valuable than gold or revenge.”

Thrynn shrugged. “Debatable if you ask me.”

“I wasn’t.” His voice was cold and flat. Thrynn was clearly not his favorite.

Then his attention was back on Rachelle. His eyes had not left her even if the conversation had. He considered her a little longer as if her appearance was stranger than the sudden reappearance of dragons.

“Is there something on my face?” she tried (and failed mind you) to joke. Rachelle was never described as funny by her family. That may be one of the few times they weren’t lying to her or about her.

“Who are you working for?”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked you who you’re working for,” he repeated. “I want to know the name of whoever sent you here.”

Rachelle was puzzled. Sure she clearly skipped a few steps in the whole initiation thing, but Brynjolf would have at least warned them she was coming, right? Well, apparently not. Guess that explains the warm welcome. She hadn’t expected tea and cookies, but having her life threatened was a bit more than what she had in mind.

“Niruin, if she doesn’t answer by my count, let it fly.”

“You got it, boss,” the elf who had her pinned said. He looked eager which only added insult to injury.

“You can’t be serious,” Rachelle said. “This isn’t the fucking Dark Brotherhood.” But she was ignored because Mercer had lifted his arm and started his count down.

“Five.”

“You’re bluffing

“Four.”

“You aren’t going to risk getting caught with a body.”

“Three.” Divines, hey may actually shoot her.

“I'm not working for anyone!”

“Two.”

“I just told you the fucking answer!”

“One.” Mercer’s arm dropped, signaling to let the arrow fly. She watched Niruin loosen his fingers. She was out of time.

“Brynjolf sent me!” Gods, she hoped those wouldn’t be her last words. She closed her eyes and waited for the searing pain that comes with an arrow, or maybe feel nothing at all if she were lucky.

But it never came. There was the thwunk of a bow being released, twice in fact, an then there was the sound of arrows clattering to the ground. When she opened her eyes she found two arrows at her feet. Someone had managed to shoot the other out of the air without much trouble. Even in her current predicament Rachelle couldn’t help but be impressed.

Mercer’s hand was back in the air, signaling the cease-fire. It must have also signaled for the second archer to stop the shot. His eyes were narrowed and he was examining her once more.

“What’s your name.”

“Amsel,” she answered, becoming more and more glad she had gone with a fake name with every passing second. There was no doubt these people would kill her if they thought it benefitted them. Still, she managed to keep her tone light. “Did our mutual friend fail to tell you I was dropping by?”

“No,” Mercer said. Not a man of many words.

“Well he told me if I wanted some more work to stop by the Ragged Flag-” She hadn’t finished the sentence before he cut her off.

“This isn’t the Flagon, missy.”

“Well, I can see that. No sarcastic, redheaded Nords in sight.”

“Joking isn’t going to make things better for you.”

She couldn’t think of a response to that. Well, she could. It was just more sarcasm.

Mercer quirked his brow. “So we’re back to silence, eh?”

No answer

“Fine, suit yourself. Thrynn, take her outside will you?”

Thrynn smirked and pulled himself out of the water onto the dais. “With pleasure,” he said. The way he said it sent a chill down Rachelle’s spine. Combined with Mercer’s phrasing of taking her “outside” she couldn’t help but reach for her dagger.

It wasn’t there. She looked down to find the holster empty. She knew she had put it back once she’d taken Thrynn down earlier so where was it now?

“Looking for this?” Thrynn waved the dagger in front of her teasingly. “Sorry, but I don’t feel getting stabbed again.” She stared him down, refusing to give him the pleasure of her shock. Honestly, she thought he was too thick to sneak something off her so easily.

“Speaking of which, get Vekel to check out that wound while you’re out there,” Mercer ordered. “I don’t want to be down a man.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Thrynn replied with a roll off his eyes before grabbing Rachelle’s arm and dragging her to one of the archways, a different one than where she came in.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Shut it and wait, will you,” was all she got towards an answer.

They headed down a short hall that was nothing but a dead end right after a sharp turn to the right. Nothing was there except a few crudely hung shelves with only a few dusty bottles of mead on display.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“I said shut it,” was once again all the information the lovely Thrynn gave her before pushing against the wall.

Much like the tomb she had entered through, the unassuming wall suddenly shifted. It began to sink into itself then swing wide, revealing another room. Unlike the tomb, it wasn’t painfully obvious to anyone with two brain cells to rub together that it was a hidden passage.

“You know, your front entrance should really work like this,” she teased before she wondered out through the hole in the wall. She didn’t bother to check whether or Thrynn was following her.

On the other side was what appeared to be a storeroom to a tavern. A tavern she hoped was finally The Ragged Flagon. There were voices coming from outside the closet, one with a distinctly familiar lilt. Oh, this was definitely the Flagon. She left the closet, ready to shock Brynjolf once more.

Sure enough, outside of the storage room was Brynjolf speaking to a crowd of other thieves. One bald man, in particular, did not seem too excited about what he had to say.

“I’m telling you this one is different,” Brynjolf insisted. “She could be what turns this place around.”

“Come on Bryn,” said the bald man. “You’ve said that about the last five and half of them ended up dead.”

“This one didn’t,” Rachelle cut in. The crowd all snapped around to see her. The fact she was coming in through the back clearly shocked them.

Like Brynjolf yesterday in the market, most didn’t show it so obviously. Brows furrowed, shoulders stiffened, and eyes narrowed, but not much more. Brynjolf was the only one who didn’t look surprised. Rachelle was a little disappointed to not see his stupid little surprised face if she was being honest, but seeing him practically beaming with pride made up for it. At least, she assumed the slight smile meant. She’d only known him a day but could tell he rarely allowed emotions to show in full.

Which is why it was shocking when he came up and pulled her into a hug. Unsure what to do, Rachelle precariously wrapped her arms around him. It was odd feeling appreciated so openly like this. Especially for the work, her family was so ashamed of yet depended so heavily on. The surprise and any warm feeling, however, didn’t last long before Brynjolf went and ruined it.

“I thought you didn’t get caught,” he teased, barely above a whisper. Of course. She should’ve expected this from him. What an ass.

She shoved him off her and glared up towards him. Damn him for having just a head on her. It really made it hard to be taken seriously in her rage.

“I’m not in prison am I?” she said indignantly. “It doesn’t count until the headsman’s ax is involved.

“Well, then I apologize. Being lead-in by a bloodied Thrynn is a complete success.”

Ugh, he was insufferable. He ignored her clear disdain for him at the current moment and slapped her on the back, shoving her towards the others near the bar, all of whom were watching her with quite an interest.

“What did I tell all of you,” Bryn said. “We’ve got ourselves a prodigy.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months into working with the Guild, Rachelle has gotten used to certain luxuries. Unfortunately, Brynjolf seems dead set on ruining them for her.

CHAPTER THREE

It had been three months since Rachelle had joined the Guild, and she hadn’t paid for a drink in two. See, when everyone’s trying to get you drunk to shed light on your dark past you get plenty of free drinks. So while everyone else was draining their pockets to try and get her to spill, she and Vekel could sit and have a nice chat (they had become fast friends since she was indirectly funding the Flagon single-handedly).

That is why tonight, just like any other night, she found herself at the bar drinking the cheapest nordic mead Vekel had, not complaining when he charges double for it, and laughing at the bombardment of questions the other members threw at her. They had made a game out of the whole ordeal. They can ask her anything, and she wouldn’t answer outside of the occasional shrug or snort. Eventually, they’d venture an absurd guess and if it was right she’d drink. If they were wrong they’d drink. Needless to say, she didn’t get nearly as drunk.

She only had to drink once. It wasn’t hard to guess she wasn’t on the best terms with the Empire. She had shown up with at least twenty of stolen Imperial swords after all.

“I finally got it, Amsel,” said Delvin, drunkenly jabbing her shoulder. “I’ve got it so right you’re going to have to chug ten of those overpriced bottles of piss to cover just how damn right I am.”

Rachelle took a swig from her bottle and raised her eyebrows as if to challenge him. “Really? Well then let’s hear it.”

Delvin was a surprisingly animated speaker she had learned. At first glance, he looks like a massive lump of… well Delvin, just meant to sit in a corner and grunt. When he spoke, you knew the lump (sometimes) had a brain, but if you weren’t looking at him the calm tone and slight rasp would make you think everything was being delivered deadpan in black and white, but it was quite the opposite. So here he was, after cracking his fingers as if to warm up, waving his arms and hands, acting out everything like a one-man puppet show without the actual puppets.

“Right, so you came here sneaking around like you didn’t wanna be seen means you got secrets.”

“Oh very good detective work,” she teased.

“Shut it and let me finish. You got high-end secrets. Secrets you can only get by sneaking.”

“You mean like literally everyone here does because that’s our job?”

“I said shut it!” Delvin snapped, tired of the interruptions. “You snuck into better than any of these newcomers here could. They wouldn’t have found our entrance, let alone have the balls to stand up to Mercer when he’s in an interrogatin’ mood. Only people with training can do that. Special training.

Vekel was already preparing an extra mug or two of mead for Delvin when he was inevitably wrong. “Might wanna slow down there, Delvin, before I have to empty my stores on you.”

“I ain’t finished yet!”

“Let him keep going, Vek. I think he’s onto something.” Rachelle agreed much to Delvin’s pleasure. “I think he’s onto the worst guess yet.”

Those who hadn’t tired of this nightly tradition and were paying attention laughed at the jeer. It didn’t take much to get them going. Really all you had to do was poke fun at Mallory, and he was an easy target.

Rune slapped Rachelle on the back, aside from Vekel he might just be one of her closest friends in the place. Possibly because he just didn’t care about her past. He had enough mysteries in his own to bother with hers. He’d once told her it’s no fun looking into someone’s past unless even they didn’t know about it. It was all about the challenge. If that were true then he was plenty occupied with his own life.

“C’mon Mallory, give up before pore old Vekel is cleaning up after you when you’ve had too much once again,” Rune said. Vekel made a face at the age comment but just kept prepping Delvin’s endless string of drinks.

“Vek’s just glad I’m paying him, and again I ain’t the one drinking all of those,” Delvin assured them. “‘Cause I figured it out. Little Amsel here is so secretive about everything. She can’t help it. It’s habit. Why is it habit? ‘Cause Amsel’s nothin’ more than an ex-Imperial Spy.”

Delvin sat there, looking like he cracked the code on some ancient myth and found the secret to eternal life. His arms were splayed out in expectation, but nothing came. The room sat in silence, waiting for Rachelle’s response.

After a long pause, she slowly reached out for one of the ten mugs of booze Vekel had poured and lifted it up. Delvin grinned wide enough to show off his few missing teeth. The bastard really thought he won. Unfortunately, Rachelle didn’t take the drink for herself but rather held it out to her idiot friend.

“I’d get drinking, Delvin,” she said. “I’d say that’s ten meads worth of stupid.”

The Flagon erupted. Rachelle could have sworn she even saw Vex smirking from her corner. Delvin wasn’t laughing with the rest. He was too busy drinking, but she could tell even he wasn’t too mad about guessing wrong. The only person in the room who wasn’t amused was Brynjolf. He sat right on the edge of her vision, sipping from his own wine, watching her from the corner of his eye. She shifted on her stool to look at him.

“You wanna take a guess, _lad?_ ” Rachelle pestered. “You’re the only one who hasn’t.”

Brynjolf shook his head. “Wouldn’t be fair.”

“Oh please, you have as much information as everyone else. What’s unfair about that?”

“The fact I’ve got a brain the rest of these fools don’t.”

There were some boos to that, and Rachelle couldn’t help but straighten up to the challenge.

“Oh really? If you’re so confident let’s add more to this than some drinking. How about we throw in something else?”

“Like what?”

“Let’s say… a month’s pay?”

The room went still. One of the first things Rachelle learned about the Guild is that they don’t make money. A months pay was a lot to them. If you missed a paycheck on a high month you’ll be lucky to afford the dirt beneath your feet the next if they hit a rough patch. And they always hit a rough patch. Not to mention she and Brynjolf got the most out of everyone it seemed. It was like they were competing to see who could complete the most jobs and with every one completed the higher they climbed in wealth. But she was confident. All this fool had was a name, not even her full name, and the fact she could steal things with ease. Well so could everyone else in this room.

Brynjolf shot her a classic smirk. “Well lass, I gotta say cockiness suits you. Shame you won’t be showing it for a while.”

“Oh I’m not so sure about that,” she teased. “So do we have a deal?”

“I think we do.” He held his hand and she shook it without hesitation.

“So, how ridiculous do you think my life is,” Rachelle asked, leaning back in her stool against the bar. This had to be good. The man never joined in on these games.

“Oh I don’t need a story. I just have to get one thing right about you, correct?”

“I mean a story is always nice. Adds some excitement, but sure if you can guess what got me here without one then you win.”

“Don’t- do it Bryn,” Delvin hiccuped, holding back a belch as he slammed his last mug down. “This swill ain’t worth it.”

“If it’s such swill why do you spend half your earnings on it?” Vekel asked.

“Cause, you ain’t charging out the ass like the Blackbriars,” answered Delvin before mumbling something about how he deserves an employee discount.

“I’m not gonna be drinking any of it anyhow,” Brynjolf said surprisingly calm. “I know the answer.”

“Then say it,” Rachelle prodded.

“I’m just trying to save you honor, lass.”

“Stop calling me lass and answer it, or I win by default.”

Brynjolf shrugged. “Fine, guess I’ll out ya’. You committed fraud, and if I had to guess it was insurance fraud.”

She stiffened. How on earth did he...

Rune waved Brynjolf off. “Fraud? Really, c’mon Bryn you can’t be serious. That’s a little tame for her skills don’t you think?”

“May not be as exciting as a spy, but it’s right,” he said, looking directly at her. Trying to get a read. “You’re quite good at all those numbers jobs we send you on. You’ve had practice.”

“Give up Lassy Boy,” Delvin jeered. “No fraud artist could’ve broken in here so easily. Fraud is a lazy man’s con, and Amsel isn’t one to half-ass shit.”

Brynjolf ignored him and kept his eyes trained on her, waiting for the confirmation he didn’t need.

“I’m afraid we still haven’t heard Amsel’s answer.”

The room turned to her. Practically the whole of the Guild was down here tonight. Only Mercer was missing, and he never showed up to these little gatherings. Too busy sulking she supposed. Either way, the rest were waiting for an answer. An answer she didn’t want to give. So instead of saying that cocky bastard was right, Rachelle simply picked up her bottle and chugged.

If the Flagon had lost it before, it was imploding now. Everyone was screaming, shaking Brynjolf in disbelief, asking if really just the numbers gave it away, begging him for more information, and burying her in questions.

“How the hell did you learn to use a knife like that working in fraud?”

“Must have been pretty behind on taxes to become an enemy of the whole damn Empire!”

“Fraud’s a rich man’s game. What you doing here for?”

“Damn Amsel, can’t believe I ever thought you were tough shit.”

Even Vekel chimed in. “Looks like you’re going to have to start paying for drinks. Nothing exciting about cooking the books.

That was the end of it. She had had enough. She funds the fucking joint by herself and this is the thanks she gets? Fuck this shit. She stood up with such force that her stool toppled over. On her way out she grabbed the front of Thrynn’s shirt and pulled him to his feet.

“If I’m not as tough as I say I am, then explain why the fuck you limped for a month after your first meeting. Try and say that shit again and I will personally provide you with a reminder”

Thrynn didn’t look phased, just even more thrilled in the development.

“What you gonna do? Commit tax fraud for me? To bad I never paid them in the-” he didn’t finish before Rachelle slammed his face into the counter at full force and left him to deal with the aftermath on his own. Asshole.

“Honestly, you brought that on yourself Thrynn.” Vex said, unphased by what had just happened. It was also the last thing Rachelle heard before storming off into the Cistern and slamming the door behind her.

********

Rachelle sat in the training room picking away at the latest unpickable chest brought in. If she had to start buying her own drinks and go a month without pay she better start scrounging up gold where she can. Too bad she was seething and breaking nearly all her pics. If she broke anymore she couldn’t afford replacements. So now here she was back to being broke, angry, and mildly drunk. How did she keep ending up like this?

With a cry of frustration, she threw the remaining ones against the wall. 

“Watch we’re you throw those things, will you?” a voice drawled. “I’ve seen a pic take out an eye before.” Brynjolf must have followed her from the bar, and honestly, that only pissed her off more. What right did he have to stand there and watch her, still sipping his drink from the bar?

“You sound like your mother,” she quipped.

“Your mother a large drunken Nordic man?”

“And you have the sense of humor of a rock.”

“You’ve met some funny rocks.”

Gods, he just thought he was so clever. She hated it, she hated he could apparently read her like a book, and she very well might have hated him if he hadn’t gotten her a job. But people hate their bosses all the time… right?

Rather than give him the satisfaction of an answer she turned back to the chest and began to try and pick the lock with her knife. Not the smartest thing she’s done, but she threw her pics away and she wasn’t going to ask him to toss them back.

She figured that combined with running away early would make it clear she wanted to be alone, but no. He just wouldn’t go. Brynjolf crossed the room and squatted next to her and held out one of the pics she had thrown at him earlier.

“I recommend switching back to these,” he said, all note of teasing gone. “Less likely to lose a finger to them.”

Rachelle shrugged. “Pics are a lazy man’s game. That isn’t me.” Her words dripped with bitterness. She really was going to have to rebuild her reputation because of him, and she hoped he knew it.

“Oh don’t tell me Thrynn actually got to you? I thought you were smarter than that.” So that was a no.

“Got to me? No, he didn’t get to me. He just said what everyone was thinking,” she explained, furiously digging into the lock. “And now I’m going to get the lower paying jobs because a fraudster surely can’t do anything difficult. It’s not like I spent years planning, mapping, fucking _choreographing_ intensive and dangerous- **FUCK!** ”

Rachelle’s dagger clattered to the ground, her own blood coating the blade. Just as Brynjolf warned her, the blade had slipped out of the lock and sliced her palm, and now she had to deal with the smug bastard nagging her about it.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he took her hand in his and poured his drink over her began caring for the wound. She winced at the sting, but stayed still, grateful for the help. While he worked he said the unspeakable. He said something sincere.

“Don’t listen to anyone of those fools.” His voice was as gentle as his hands as they tied off the bandage. “If they can’t see you’re one of the best thieves to walk through our door then it explains why we’ve been going broke for decades. Fraudster or not you have the brains and the skills needed to rule this city if you wanted.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, unsure whether it was for the first aid or the kind words.

“Anytime, Amsel.”

Rachelle looked up from the bloody cloth to meet his gaze. He was just inches away, his gaze softer than she would have thought possible for him. Just like the first day she met him she couldn’t help but wonder how he managed not to reak of garbage based on where they lived. She would have to ask him.

But then someone in the door cleared their throat and he jumped away from her like a kid caught nabbing bread from the bakers stand. She glared towards whoever had interrupted them but quickly understood why Brynjolf had lept up.

Mercer Frey leaned against the stone archway, watching them closely, and by the looks of it he had probably been there for a while.

“Sorry to interrupt your little… whatever this is,” he said, waving his hand about for emphasis. “But if you’re done fraternizing--”

“We weren’t _fraternizing!” Rachelle snapped._

__

__

“Mercer, please. She wishes we were.” And there he was. The same smug asshole she was used to. She would have yelled at him if Mercer wasn’t there and he hadn’t just saved her from her stupidity.

“Doesn’t matter to me what you do on your own time,” Mercer said, “Just don’t let it interfere with the work. Speaking of which, I’ve got one for you Amsel.”

“I’ll take it,” she said with no hesitation. Mercer didn’t give out any easy old job. He gave out the top paying ones (pay she wouldn’t get thanks to her bet, mind you, but money all the same). Completing a job for him would shut Thrynn and the other’s up no problem.

He quirked a brow. “So eager, and yet you don’t even know the job.”

“Don’t need to. A jobs a job, and I can do any of them no problem.”

“Really? Even one’s our own Vex can’t get done.”

Rachelle saw Brynjolf stiffen out of the corner of her eye. “Mercer, you can’t possibly be talking about--”

“Oh, I am. Maven’s getting antsy; we need this done.”

This piqued her interest. “Need what done?”

“Tell me, Amsel. What do you know about Goldenglow Estates?”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry this took 5000 years. I'd say the next chapter will come soon, but it won't. I'll aim for the next month or two but no promises. Enjoy!

CHAPTER FOUR

Rachelle happened to know a thing or two about Goldenglow. Actually, she happened to know a lot about Goldenglow. The owner, Aringoth, used to be a close trading partner with her father back when she was still on speaking terms with her family. She’d been dragged to the occasional meeting or two there as a child. She loved playing on the grounds with her brothers and sneaking through the cellars. Now she wasn’t dumb enough to think playing hide and seek two decades ago would make her capable breaking in without problems. No, her real leg up was Aringoth.

The High Elf may not put up with little shits on his property anymore, but he still loved coming to the Amsels’ manor and getting drunk. He was a chatty drunk. Loose lips actually burn beehives apparently. She knew where the deed was kept before Mercer had told her, she knew about his secret little escape path in case of a raid, and she knew that the elf was too cheap to even higher a guard who can lift a sword.

Or at least she thought she knew that. Unfortunately, Aringoth had gotten paranoid in his old age because not only could his guards now lift a sword, they stood on every inch of his property and she wouldn’t be shocked if they also filled the manor itself.

Well shit.

Now she understood why no one had managed to get to the safe despite the amount of information they had. Rachelle liked to think she was a step above the rest when it comes to infiltration, but she still wasn’t fool enough to think she was better than Vex. The fact that she couldn’t even make it out without a nasty gash along her shoulder should have tipped Rachelle off to the danger, but she had been too eager to prove herself as more than just a fraudster.

So here she was, hiding under the ledge of one of the estate’s small islands, trying to figure out how to burn the beehives without getting caught. Whether it was night or day wouldn’t matter. Daylight meant she would be easier to spot, but three roaring fires in the middle of the night? That would more than give away her position. Honestly, she didn’t quite get why they even wanted the hives burned in the first place.

 _Our employer wants to send a message_ , Mercer had said.

Aringoth was an old drunk, but he wasn’t a complete fool. Stealing the deed would get the point across, especially if she managed to knab that hideous bee statuette she remembered from her childhood visits. That thing had to be worth more than a couple of sovereigns since he hadn’t even liked her staring at it.

Still, she couldn’t go back a failure. She was already giving her pay to Brynjolf because of that dumb bet, but she refused to give up her cut throat reputation with it. No, she was going to beat even Vex and rob Aringoth blind.

“Hey!”

Nevermind, she had been spotted.

Not far away there was a guard tower with a large, and honestly terrifying looking, mercenary staring straight at her. She barely had time to skitter around the edge of the dirt overhang she had been hiding beneath before a knife embedded itself between the rocks where her head had just been. If that wasn’t bad enough, she slipped on the silt as she went, splashing into the lake, sending ripples every which way and giving away her position to anyone who hadn’t seen it already.

Shouting spread across the property and she could hear the scrape of swords being unsheathed. Shit, shit, _shit_. She was in hell. She was going to die and go to a worse hell. She was out options. Well not really, she could run, but she couldn’t really. That would certainly cost her any future jobs with the Guild, and who knows maybe she’d die anyway, just in a much less grand way.

Not that the idiocy she was about to perform could be really be called “grand” per se. Without putting much thought into it, Rachelle catapulted herself over the ledge, off the dirt shore and onto the proper island. The hives were just across the rope bridge, and, lucky for her, there weren’t any of the mercenaries near them. She sprinted across the lawn, hoping desperately she remembered the little bit of magic her brother, Reane, had taught her all those years ago.

She was nearly there when an arrow shot straight to her feet. She stumbled to avoid losing a toe, but that may have been the better option. The hesitation slowed her up just enough to allow the brute from the tower to catch her from behind. He pulled her back to her chest, his arm wrapped tight around her chest.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing at Mr. Aringoths?” His breath smelled like rotting fish. It wouldn’t surprise her if he ate them straight from the lake.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she replied coolly. “It definitely isn’t to see you.”

“And yet here we are.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Then, before the oaf could respond, she simply placed her hands on his bare forearm and watched the skin blister. Reane truly was a great teacher. She may not be able to set her whole hand alight like him, but that couldn’t stop her from causing some serious damage by making her hands hot as coals.

With a surprisingly high pitched shriek, the sellsword released her and she was able to run, but not all that far. 

She felt her head yank back and she fell to the ground. Stars dotted her vision from the sudden strain of something pulling at her scalp before her head slammed into the ground. In a daze, she realized what had happened. Her braid had come unpinned during the scuffle, and the near three feet of extra hair made quite a good grip for the man’s unburnt hand.

Before she could even think, she took the dagger from her thigh and cut herself free. Uneven chunks of hair fell on her face. She hadn’t really wanted a bob, but she’d take it over a scalping. Though now she was going to have to find a way to keep it out of her face, and without the weight it would start curling again.

“You little bitch!”

Right a problem for another time.

She scrambled to her feet and covered the rest of the short distance to the hives, heating her hand up while she went. She didn’t have time to think, just run past with her hand swiping against them. The dry straw they were built with started smoking at the faintest touch. In a matter of seconds, the three hives were set alight and Rachelle was off again, diving into the lake behind the newly made bonfire.

Just a short swim away was an entrance to the estate’s sewer system. It had been her and Reane’s favorite spot to hide from Gideon back in the day. One entrance was near the doors to the manor and one was right across from the hives. She wouldn’t even have to come up for a breath before reaching it. Thank the gods for that too because every sellsword on the property were on that island watching the roaring bonfire by now, and she doubted they were just going to let her go with a congratulatory pat on the back

After a quick check over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been followed, Rachelle ducked into the sewer system. None of the guards seemed ready to get their furs wet in order to follow. It was nice to see Aringoth still was too cheap to pay for brains. 

Reluctant to let her guard down just yet, Rachelle did a quick sweep of the tunnels, only to find nothing more than a few dead and drowned skeevers with her. With a heavy sigh of relief, Rachelle fell against the slime covered stone walls, grateful for the second of rest.

A quick self examination revealed only a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing too serious. Though her bandaged hand was blistering slightly from the heat. She’d never been the best at projecting her magic away from her.

To think, just a few months ago Reane would be lecturing her while healing it, insisting she either stop using magic or learn to do it properly. Thankfully, he never told Gideon who would have taken her off any upcoming raids, deeming her “unsafe” and “reckless.” He always was trying too hard to be their father. He certainly had a matching ego.

She shook her head. She didn’t have time to fall back into a past that didn’t matter. Her newly loose hair caught on her mouth and lashes. She already missed her braided bun. At least based on her reflection in the sewage the hair cut wasn’t terrible. A little uneven in places, but nothing she couldn’t fix up back at the cistern.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have that much time to catch her breath down here. It wouldn’t be long before one of them grew the half a brain necessary to realize where she went, or the fact it let out right at the front door, so off she went.

It wasn’t a far walk, a short five minutes at most. By the end of it, however, her boots were soaked through which would certainly not allow for hiding her tracks once indoors. Still, she was running short on time so she couldn’t worry. She hoisted herself out of the sewage and into the front yard. There was an open line of site to the front door from practically everywhere on the island. If she was going to break in unseen she needed a little help.

Tonalia had given her just that on her way out. News of Rachelle taking on Goldenglow spread as quickly as her fraud filled past and a few people actually still respected her. Tonalia was amongst them.

“I don’t want that bastard Thrynn having the satisfaction of you failing,” she had told Rachelle before handing her barely two sips of an invisibility draught. So, you know, as respectful as that bunch gets.

Besides, Rachelle would have allowed her to spit in her face if it meant having this draught, even if it only gave her about thirty seconds to get across the lawn and the lock picked. Realizing she should have drunk it before leaving the sewer, she hastily unstrapped the vial from her thigh, flipped the cork and took a swig.

Just in time apparently based on the screams from behind her. She was spotted, but too bad for them she was gone the second the potion hit her tongue. Unfortunately for her, the countdown had begun.

_Thirty seconds._

She ran the few yards to the door, flinching internally when she heard her boots squelch with every step.

_Twenty seconds._

Rachelle slid to the door and nearly slamming into it about ruins her plan. It costs precious time to right herself.

_Fifteen seconds._

What she didn’t think of was the fact she couldn’t see herself either. Finding lockpicks when they’re simply aren’t there as far as you can tell isn’t easy to say the least.

_Ten Seconds_

Finding the damn pics was hard enough, but getting them in right was a bitch. Rachelle could no longer claim she could pick a lock with her eyes closed (not that she wouldn’t anyways).

_Five seconds._

Shit. Her hand was bleeding. The self inflicted slit on her palm had reopened and the fresh blisters had torn. Whether it was the stress and impending threat of death or the potion wearing off, she knew she was almost out of time and luck. If she could just get the damn thing open!

_Three… two…_

There was a click. Thank the Divines there was a click!

_One._

Rachelle shoved the door open and tumbled in just in time. She could see her blood soaked, bandaged hand fade back into existence as it stretched out in front of her to brace her dive. She didn’t have time to celebrate though. The goons had to be closing in and would have seen the door open.

Before they could get in she slammed it shut and throws the lock back in place. For extra precaution, she pushes the nearby dining cabinet in front of the entrance. It would take more than a few good ax hacks to get through that and the door. Especially when they’re both solid oak. Her father had always said indulgence is often the death of people like Aringoth, and while she wasn’t planning on killing the elf, she supposed he was right in away.

Finally, with a moment to breathe, she took in her surroundings. The entry hadn’t changed much in the decades since she had been here last. Rich wood walls, gaudy antler chandeliers, and plenty of decorative weapons anyone who had seen the old fool would have known he couldn’t possibly have lifted in battle even as a jest.

There was also a surprising silence throughout the house. No boards creaked with the sound of mercenaries on patrol. It was… odd, and honestly unsettling. There was a small army outside yet no one inside? She snuck to the entrance hall, peeking around the wall only to see there was no one at either end of it. If she were telling the truth, a big burly orc holding a blood coated ax may have been a more comforting sight. Actually, it certainly would have been.

This whole situation had every inch of her yelling, _“Run! It’s a trap!”_ It was too simple, too easy, too eerily similar to the mess that had sent her running to Skyrim in the first place. Yet she didn’t listen to her gut and continued deeper into the house.

Rachelle crept down the hall to the second floor, her hand on her dagger ready in case of a fight she desperately hoped was coming. Aringoth had not fixed the squeaky tenth stair, and she froze when it echoed through the manner, but no sound other than the screaming guards outside could be heard. No one seemed to care she was here.

The second floor was just as empty as the first. The unease seeped into Rachelle’s bones like a deep cold and the soaking wet leather she wore was no help. She no longer snuck through the halls as she made her way to Aringoth’s room. The statuette waited behind the doors, and she wouldn’t be shocked if the High Elf did as well, along with all the missing guards. With a straight back, she reached for the latch.

She knew immediately something was wrong when she did. Not just because of the missing of guards, or even the sudden silence outside, but the fact that the latch was left unlocked. Everything she remembered about this place centered around Aringoth’s caution, his distrust, and the fact the only way she ever got anywhere besides her guest quarters and the dining room was by breaking in. Even if that weren’t true, anyone with that many guards outside and a group of, frankly, brutish criminals after them wouldn’t leave their door unlocked.

Yet here she was, standing at that very unlocked bedroom door, and she was now sure a trap had to lay beyond it. She could leave the statuette. She could. She could just walk away and get the deed… but she couldn’t. Her damn pride wouldn’t let her. So with a deep breath, she pushed the door open to whatever danger awaited her.

“Ah, well I must say I wasn’t expecting you,” came an old rusty voice from the corner.

Aringoth sat alone in his favorite lush armchair. He watched her with the same sharp gold eyes she remembered from her childhood. Despite his words, he didn’t seem surprised to see her at all. Rather just annoyed by her continued existence.

“I was under the impression you were executed by the Imperial Legion, Miss Rachelle. Your father will be quite shocked to hear otherwise.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little shorter than normal (like two pages shorter), but I needed the perspective shift and I just cannot do a two perspective chapter.

** CHAPTER FIVE **

The Ragged Flagon was filled with a tension that hadn’t been present for months. When Amsel had joined on the constant death of newcomers came to an end and it seemed like their luck had finally turned around, but now she had left for Goldenglow and had been gone much longer than expected.

Nearly Twenty-four hours had passed. If it had been any other heist that would have been the norm. Travel time alone would have made sure no one thought twice until two, possibly four weeks had passed. If a job had been completed any earlier than that and they’d be just as concerned as they were now but for an entirely different reason. But Goldenglow was in Riften and even Vex had only been gone for a few hours before returning bloody and pissed despite weeks of planning. Amsel left at sunrise and no news had been heard since.

Over the past few hours, the Flagon had gone from cheery, loud, and full of drinking and bet placing (would Amsel come back with her tail between her legs or a hero), but the energy began to dwindle when it started looking like it wasn’t going to be either.

Rune had gone above ground to see if he could find anything out, but all he could see was the plumes of smoke from the island. She had at least succeeded at that part of the job. Still, there was a strange calmness on the island despite the fires. The news put no one at ease.

“I say we call it,” Thrynn had said less than an hour in. Most of the Guild had told him to shut the hell up and sit down, that he was just bitter Amsel had broken his nose yet again. It was Vekel of all people who finally admitted he might be right.

“Let’s face it, she should’ve been back hours ago,” he sighed. “It’s time to start checking jail cells and lakes.”

There was a resigned sigh of agreement. No one wanted Vekel to be right, but he was. Amsel probably wasn’t coming back. Brynjolf was the only one who stayed silent. Rather he just stared into his mead, a thousand miles away.

Thrynn was probably the only one who seemed anything but disappointed. “What, when I imply she might be choking on some sewage I was an ass, but Vekel says it and it’s okay.”

“Vek doesn’t want her dead, asshole,” Tonalia snapped. “You’re just waiting to lay claim to whatever’s in her trunk.”

“So what if I am? No one cared about the past failures, but suddenly Brynjolf’s favorite bites it and we have to have a damn wake?”

“We aren’t having a wake,” said Rune. He was bleary-eyed from the drink and pain. Rachelle and him had become fast friends and this was hitting him harder than anyone. Except maybe Brynjolf (not that he’d ever admit to it). “We just expect you to wait till we find her!”

“Or, at the very least, until the body’s gone cold.” Tonalia was a matter of fact as always.

They continued to debate for gods knows how long. Some said she was probably just embarrassed by her failure and refused to come back, others said she was stuck in a cell. They were the more hopeful bunch. Most stuck to the idea that Aaringoth and his men hadn’t let her off easy, that Thrynn was right and it was time to divvy up her belongings.

But worst of all was Delvin’s theory.

“Now we all know Rachelle’s story,” he started. No one bothered to remind him he’d been piss drunk most nights for knowing jack shit about her story. That’s how you know things are bad when spirits are too low to even mock Mallory.

“That girl came here after committing treason, she worked in fraud, money clearly was a major motivator.”

“What are you getting at Mallory?” Brynjolf practically growled.

Those near him jumped a bit in surprise. He had hardly said a thing since Amsel had left, and hadn’t spoken or moved in hours. Now his voice cut through the tension like a knife, but rather than easing it he only added a sense of danger to it. His glare made it clear that if Delvin’s theory was going where it seemed to be, it wasn’t going to end well.

“All I’m saying is that we don’t know much about her. I mean is Amsel even her real name?”

“I’d watch your tongue before you lose it.”

“Open your eyes, Bryn. She came here after betraying a whole damn empire for some gold and just lost all her pay to you in a bet. She’s a thief with no morals as far as we know, and it’s not a stretch to believe that the little lady got paid off and made a run for it.”

The words had barely left his lips before he was pinned to a table, arms behind his back, and a dagger to his throat.

“I don’t appreciate you implying I invited a traitor into our midst,” Brynjolf hissed into his ear. “Slander her and you as good as slander me.”

“Hey hey! Watch it will ya? The women ‘round her really don’t appreciate a man with no neck.”

“Only way you’re getting up is if we can get some things straight. Amsel isn’t dead, and she isn’t a traitor to the Guild. Imply it again and—”

“Let him up, Brynjolf.” The room went still. Mercer Frey stood in the doorway to the Cistern. It wasn’t like him to venture in on these depressing drinking sessions, and the look on his face was far from comforting.

Brynjolf didn’t Mallory up, however. “What are you doing out here?”  
“I said let him up.”

“He’s accusing one of our own of betraying us,” he argued. “I’m not one to just go and let that slide.”

“That’s an order Brynjolf!”

The whole of the Flagon was watching them. The two men rarely clashed on things like this. Since Brynjolf had become Mercer’s right hand man they had butted heads exactly once, and it was only when Mercer had tried profiting off the war with lies sold to soldiers’ families. For the most part Mercer let Brynjolf do as he pleased so long as money was brought in and he didn’t have to talk to Maven.  
After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Brynjolf sheathed his dagger and let Delvin go.

“You better have a good reason for interrupting, Mercer.”

“Interrupting what? A pity party?” When Brynjolf didn’t answer he shrugged and continued. “Silent treatment? Fine then maybe you’ll listen and understand the urgency of the situation.”

“We’ve just lost another recruit,” Niruin said. “What’s so urgent about that?”

“The urgency is that she’s not dead.” The room went silent. Brynjolf’s back straightened, she made it back after all?

Even Rune snapped out of his stupor at that news. “Amsel made it back? She in the Cistern? Is she okay?”

Mercer shook his head. “Oh I’m sure she’s doing just fine.” Something about his tone didn’t sit right with Brynjolf.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It means Mallory was right. A horse was just stolen from the stables, and the description of the horse thief fits that of our very own traitor, Amsel.”


	6. Chapter 6

** CHAPTER SIX **

Rachelle hadn’t meant to do it, but it all happened so quickly. He was going to alert the Empire. They would find out she was alive, that she was in Riften, that she was with the Guild. They couldn’t find out. They couldn’t. They couldn’t.

She wasn’t sure how it had happened, just that it kept replaying in her mind over and over as she rode north, far from Riften, nothing to her name but a bee statuette to pawn off and the deed to a now-defunct honey farm. 

She was running again. She was always running. Why could she not have bothered to stay low? Why did she join that stupid band of criminals? They just distracted her from her original plan. She was supposed to be in Cyrodiil by now, clearing her name and putting her father’s head on the palace gates as decoration. She wasn’t supposed to be fleeing in the complete opposite direction. She wasn’t supposed to have made friends. She wasn’t supposed to have…

_ Gods damn it, _ she thought, wiping tears from her eyes and spurring the horse she’d stolen to go even faster. At this rate, she wouldn’t even be at the mining town north of Riften by sunrise. She needed to be well past that before first light if she wanted to avoid being followed. She was mostly certain no one had seen her swim back from the island or take the horse, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry when it comes to executable matters. She learned that the hard way.

An hour later Rachelle had crested the next hill. Pink streaks of light tinged the sky, but Shor’s Stone lay at its base. Not wanting to lose any more time she tightened her grip on the reins and urged the horse to continue on. It hadn’t even righted it’s position before the first arrow pierced its leg. She had been found.

Rachelle kicked the animal in the side, praying it could run, but as more arrows rained down the beast startled, bucking her from its bareback and sent her crashing down in the brush. She toppled down the hill, only stopping when a rock so kindly caught her in the head, nearly knocking her out cold.

Dizzy, aching, and half-blind from the impact she stumbled to her feet, desperate to run. Her bag with the supplies lay a few feet away. She tried to limp towards it but quickly collapsed back to the ground in agony. Her ankle was broken and blood was running down her arm where one of the arrows had hit. Whether or not the delirium was from the head trauma or a possible poison was unclear.

“She fell this way,” a voice called from up the hill. She couldn’t tell who it was, her head was hurting too much to think straight, and she was starting to lose her vision. It was either the Guild or Imperial soldiers if they were after her. Neither were a great option.

_ I have to get out of here. _

She crawled to her bag. If she could just reach it there were possibly enough healing potions to mask the pain for her to escape. Her outstretched fingers could just brush the burlap straps when a boot came down hard on her wrist. She screamed in pain, trying desperately to hang onto reality, as a second voice called up the hill.

“Found her!” She recognized it this time. It belonged to the same sharpshooter who first greeted her when breaking into the Guild, Niruin. That would explain the arrows to startle but not kill the horse, and how she hadn’t been knicked anywhere vital. Unfortunately, that meant they wanted her alive which could possibly be worse than dying on this hill.

As much as she was trying to stay lucid, she was starting to slip away. Her head was throbbing, her ankle and now wrist radiated pain, and she decided the arrow had certainly been dosed with a paralytic. However, she was conscious enough to see Niruin go digging through her bag.

“Well look here,” he whispered before announcing to the other. “The bitch succeeded, she's got the deed!”

“Put that back,” she slurred. Just because she hadn’t planned on keeping it doesn’t mean she wanted him touching it. Niruin ignored her though and kept digging through her belongings.

“What?” the first voice from the hill asked, closer now.

“She has the damn deed to Goldenglow in the bag.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” came the familiar drawl she had hoped wouldn’t find her. “Why would she steal that if Aringoth paid her off?”

“Why stop at betraying us?  She was probably going to pawn it off for double the price and laugh when the old bastard found out she double-crossed him.”

“Because that doesn’t make sense,” he responded before kneeling next to Rachelle, watching as she slipped unconscious. “What on Earth are you planning, Lass?”

She didn’t even have the chance to tell him to quit calling her that, or process just how deep of shit she was in if Mercer sent him after her before falling into darkness with Brynjolf’s perplexed green eyes being the last thing she saw.

* * *

Not many people would find waking up tied to a tree in the cold mud, ropes tight against your chest and binding your broken wrist to the other behind your back comfort or a welcomed discovery. There were certainly some out there that did, right? Not that it mattered since Rachelle certainly wasn’t amongst them.

She let out a groan. Every inch of her ached and her hair was stuck to her face damp with... mud? Blood? She wasn’t sure. The last thing she remembered was staring down at Shor's Stone then… falling? No, being attacked. She didn’t need to think much harder to remember by who, seeing as Niruin spoke up, unaware she had regained consciousness.

“Why are we bringing her in alive? She sold us out.”

“She may still be useful,” Brynjolf said, sounding bored.

“Useful? She stabbed us in the back?” Niruin was bordering on yelling now. “Are you trying to be the next Gallus?”

“I’d watch what you say next.” She wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about, but based the coolness to the Nord’s voice it most certainly wasn’t good.

“I’m just saying we don’t want another Karlaih situation on our hands.”

Rachelle risked a peek through our lashes to catch a glimpse of the two thieves. She clearly had been out much longer than she thought as they sat not far away around a small campfire, providing the only light to be seen. Niruin’s back was to her and his partner, as he kept watch of the shadows. Brynjolf was hidden by those shadows, his features sharp in the glow of the firelight that barely reached him. Despite this, she could see that the elf had misstepped and would receive more than a lecture later, but for now, Brynjolf had noticed her and his focus shifted.

“We’ll finish this later,” he drawled, “but for now our guest is awake.”

Niruin turned his attention to her. Based on his glare she supposed she should thank Brynjolf because the elf was regretting shooting the horse and not her throat. Brynjolf moved closer to her and knelt to look her in the eye.

“How are you, Lass? Have a nice ride?”

She didn’t even have time to decide whether or not to answer was any benefit to herself before Niruin put the point of his dagger to her throat.

“Alright, niceties over. How much did he pay you?”

“Niruin, stand down!”

“Enough Brynjolf, just because you see a pretty face and lose all sense doesn't mean the rest of us to do.” He pressed the knife against her throat just enough to draw blood and show just how serious he truly was.

“Killing her isn’t going to get us any information.”

“That’s why we get it now.” He looked back at Rachelle who sat there, looking down the bridge of her nose at the dagger. Why did running always end in nearly losing her head? “So are you going to talk or not.”

“C’mon now Niruin, we went over this the first time we met,” Rachelle said through gritted teeth, hoping the fear wasn’t showing. “It’s more than a little hard to talk with a dagger to my throat.”

“You’re doing just fine now.”

“Enough!” Rachelle was grateful when Brynjolf pulled the other thief off her, tossing him back towards the fire. “Killing her gets us nowhere. Now go make yourself useful, watch the road for guards.”

Niruin looked ready to argue but must have decided it was better to just complain back at headquarters and hope Mercer did something because he followed the Nord’s order in the end.

“Thanks for that,” Rachelle said.

“Don’t thank  me yet, Lass,”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“You don’t get a say in what I call you anymore!” His typical humor was gone. For once Rachelle believed he was legitimately angry if not furious.

“You do not get a say in anything after the embarrassment you’ve caused! People are going around saying I let in a traitor, and let me tell you, if that’s true, if you sold the Guild out, you will be wishing I let Niruin have his way and just slit your throat on the spot.”

He was pacing in front of her, his hand on his dagger, fingers fidgeting unsure if he should pull it out for a threat of his own or not.

“I wasn’t betraying anyone,” she assured him.

“Then explain the damn deed in your bag, Amsel!” He stopped pacing long enough to look at her. He wasn’t just angry, he was hurt. “I vouched for you to Mercer, got you this gig, and you robbed us blind. The FUCK is with that!?”

“I was going to mail it to you!”

“Horse shit!”

“What good would selling the damn thing do? I don’t have a fence and you’d be able to track its sale even if I did!”

“Quit having a damn lover’s spat and get the information already!” Niruin called from the hilltop.

“It’s not a fucking lover’s spat!” they both yelled back.

Then there was a moment of silence. The moment of agreement seemed to have shocked them both back into the reality of what was happening. Rachelle was tied to a tree, possibly about to be killed and thrown in a ditch, and Brynjolf was standing over her as the one to do it. How far they’d come from their moment in the cistern just two nights ago.

“Listen,” Brynjolf finally said, much calmer than he was just seconds before. He kneeled down so that they were eye to eye. “I don’t want to kill you, but despite what Niruin thinks, it isn’t because I like you. Right now I understand why the others want you dead and truly wouldn’t mind handing you over to them.”

“Well, that’s more than a little contradictory.”

“Do you ever shut your mouth?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I mean honestly, this is the time to shut the hell up. If you know how to, that is.”

He waited a beat for her to say something. She did consider making another snide remark but decided this may be one of the few times to hold her tongue.

“Glad you understand the severity here, Lass.

“Now as I was saying, I wouldn’t mind letting Niruin and the others have their way, but that’s not how the Guild works. We’re not the Dark Brotherhood. But that doesn’t mean I can’t keep everyone else from gutting you in an alley if you don’t explain yourself.”

He sat there staring at her for a long while, watching as she contemplated whether or not the truth was worth it. He wouldn’t look at her the same, probably throw to the dogs anyways. But if she didn’t then she’d have Thrynn’s knife in her back in a matter of seconds.

“I don’t have all night. You either tell me now or—”

“He recognized me.” Amsel was barely speaking above a whisper.

“He what?”

“He recognized me!”

“Recognized you? What would a damn honey farmer know you from?”

Then it hit her. That partial truth only meant there had to be a full truth.  She stuttered around an answer, wishing desperately for a simple one, but she couldn’t think of anything that would work. He knew her from when she was a kid. He was one of her dad’s closest allies. Hell, he had probably been one of the business partners who sold her out to the Empire for their own gain!

Wait…

“Dammit, recognized you from where, Amsel!?”

“The wanted posters,” she rushed out. “They’re apparently all over the damn Empire.”

“Thought the empire believed you were dead? What have so many wanted posters?

_ Shit _ . “I mean I don’t know when he saw him, just that he did, that he was going to turn me in. I panicked. I ran. I-I…”

“What did you do, Lass?”

“I killed him.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. It was exactly what she wanted to avoid by running. She had killed a man she had known since she was a child to save her own neck. She was exactly what the empire was treating her like. A murderer.

Not that she hadn’t killed before, but people who were fighting back are very different from an old elf just sitting there, threatening to tattle on her. Even if the tattling means execution. She didn’t even remember pulling out the knife. Just the threat and then Airngoth was on the ground, bleeding. She panicked, emptied his safe and ran.

“Well… shit,” Brynjolf so eloquently summed up the mess.

“I didn’t really head in there planning to kill him. I panicked.”

“That’s no panicking. That’s… Divines I don’t know what that is.”

“It was that or have the Guild find out and send me in for the bounty!”

“So instead you betrayed us, took the goods, and ran? Right because that’s so much better.”

“I was going to mail the deed once I put some distance between us.”

“And the bee statuette?"

“Now that wasn’t part of the contract.”

“So you were going to sell it”

“I need to eat.”

That seemed to have been enough for Brynjjolf. He was back to kicking around the camp, muttering under his breath.

“Panicked… need to eat… damn girl’s going to be the death of me.”

Rachelle rolled her eyes. “So is there a plan from here or not?”

“There’s really not been an occurrence of murder as of late, so no, no plan.”

Niruin was clearly getting antsy up on his perch. “Might want to hurry it up down there,” he called. “We’ve either got bandits or a patrol headed our way.”

“Shit,” Brynjolf hissed and began digging through Rachelle’s bag.

Rachelle stretched and strained, trying to see what he was doing. “What are you digging for?”

“You said the deed was in here, and I need to make sure you aren’t lying before taking you back to Mercer.”

“You shouldn’t need to dig. I had it right on top.”

“Well, it isn’t there.”

There was the skittering of dirt signaling Niruin’s return.

“What on earth are you doing? Put the damn fire out or the Empire’s going to spot us and take her,” the elf snapped, jerking his jagged chin towards her. He then smirked when he noticed her shiver as the color drained from her face. “Rather be stuck with us than your fellow imperials, eh?”

“Quit harassing the lass, and help me find the damned deed, Niruin.”

“If you weren’t so busy flirting—”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“Whatever, if you were paying attention you would have known I pocketed it when we first caught her.” Sure enough, he was pulling a small batch of papers from one of the dozens of holsters on his thigh.

“Give me those!” Brynjolf said the words as forceful as the smack Niruin received with the deeds and Brynjolf snatched them from his hand.

“Divines! No need to hit so hard; you hadn’t seemed to want them at the moment.” Niruin said, rubbing the spot on his head Brynjolf had hit, but his higher up waved him off. Something about the deed he was now reading had his full attention.

“What? Did the traitor sabotage the documents to? Bryn? Brynjolf?”

Brynjolf ignored him and came storming at Rachelle, waving the papers in her face.

“What the hell kind of joke is this?”

“The deed?”

“This, this…,” He couldn’t seem to find the words and settled for smacking the papers as if they’d answer.

“ _ These _ ,” he finally managed to get out, “are evidence of a sale. Aringoth sold Goldenglow!”

“What!?” Rachelle and Niruin said, equally shocked.

“Let me see those,” Niruin took the papers back and scanned them quickly. He must have not liked what he saw because he was back at Rachelle’s throat in a matter of seconds.

“What did you do!?

“I didn’t fucking do anything!”

“Bought the whole damn estate, did you!?”

“How would I have done that on the dirt-cheap pay we get!?”

“I heard you! You said he recognized you! Did he sell it to you under the table?”

“Enough!” Byrnjolf had to pull Niruin off of Rachelle for the second time that night. “The papers are dated weeks ago. I don’t know when Amsel would have had the time to sneak up to Solitude for the sale and signing legal papers?”

Niruin looked ready to put up an argument, but Brynjolf cut him off before he could begin. “Just put the damn fire out and shut up. I don’t want whoever’s coming to hear us.”

“What about her?”

The two thieves turned to look at Rachelle who desperately wished her hands weren’t tied behind her back so she could give a little wave. What’s the point of being held prisoner if you can’t mock your captors?

“We take her back to Mercer, see if the Fraudster can figure out who the old fool sold it off to.”


	7. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER 7**

It was the middle of the night by the time the trio made it back to Riften. Niriun road ahead just enough to pay off any guards that might ask why Brynjolf had Rachelle’s bound wrists tied to the reigns of his horse why she looked so miserable to be riding on the back of his horse as if falling off and snapping her neck would be preferable. To be fair it might have been.

Brynjolf seemed to have convinced Niruin that killing her wasn’t the best action right now, but there was no guarantee the rest of the Guild would agree. Even the Nord himself hadn’t said a word to her since they started back to the city. Not that he was naturally talkative or anything. She just assumed he may have wanted to question her a little more about Aringoth’s untimely death with Niruin riding ahead.

When they reached the gates of the city there were no guards waiting. Brynjolf dismounted and dragged Rachelle after him. She stumbled but managed to stay on her feet. Based on Niruin’s scoff he had been hoping to watch her bite it.

“Take the horses back to the stables,” Byrnjolf ordered his companion. “We don’t need the stable masters knowing we borrowed them. There’s enough going on without pointless fines being thrown in.”

With no more than a nod, Niruin took Brynjolf's lead and rode off with the second horse in tow. Rachelle was now alone with the Nord once more, but he didn’t seem any more willing to discuss what she was about to face.

“Come on,” he said rather gruffly and tugged on the rope tying her wrists together. “We don’t need to be here when the guards get back, and we can’t afford to ask them to look the other way yet again. You aren’t worth the money.”

It was the most he had said since discovering the deed was nothing more than a bill of sales, and it was also a plane as day threat. If she didn’t move along the guards would wonder why he was dragging her to the graveyard like this and he’d be forced to hand her over. Even if they didn’t recognize her from the Empire’s wanted posters considering Riften was a Stormcloak’s stronghold, they certainly would realize that she was coated in blood and the rich elf outside of town was murdered. Still, that wasn’t going to stop her from pestering him further.

“Brynjolf listen to me,” she begged (that’s right, she of all people was  _ begging!) _  “I don’t know anything about the sale, and I’m not going to know anything no matter what Mercer does to me.”

He didn’t answer.

“Please Bryn,” she said, daring to use the nickname other Guild members often used to soften him up when begging for forgiveness. “I swear I know nothing about this. Please, just let me go.”

He stiffened and for a second she thought she may have actually gotten to him. He may not let her go but at the very least protect her from Mercer’s wrath, but then his shoulders relaxed and he gave the rope another tug.

“Keep moving and shut it, or the guards will hear you,” he grunted and kicked in the button to the secret entrance. They had oiled it since Rachelle had broken in, so a deathly scraping did not give them away.

Brynjolf shoved Rachelle into cover ahead of him, blocking her only path to escape.

“Hope you can climb a ladder with your hands tied,” was all he said before opening the hatch and knocking her in.

Luckily she could climb a ladder with her hands tied, or at the very least catch herself on it halfway down so that she could drop from a much more manageable height. Still, she slipped on the sludge at the bottom, resulting in her falling flat on her back and being covered in the putrid water that stained everything down here. She barely had time to roll away before Brynjolf dropped down after her, much more gracefully mind you since he could actually use the ladder.

“Get up,” he said, glaring down at her before walking off to Mercer’s desk.

Rachelle begrudgingly obeyed. After all, she didn’t have much of a choice. Half the Guild was in the Cistern, frozen in place watching her, shocked she came back alive and only mildly bruised. Okay, maybe not mildly. She was covered in a dead man’s blood, had an incredibly broken wrist, and definitely had a nasty concussion.

Either way, they watched her limp across the cavernous room, not even bothering to hide their anticipation as they did so. Mercer, on the other hand, sat at his desk, feet up on the shimmering hardwood, glaring at her over his steepled fingers. He looked oddly like her father whenever he’d call her and her brothers in for a meeting about their “second business” as he called it. The resemblance sent a chill down Rachelle’s spine. Neither Mercer nor her father were people she would have wanted to cross, and she wasn’t sure which was the worse option.

“We have a problem Mercer,” Brynjolf said as a way of greetings, pulling out the proof of sale and passing them to the Guildmaster. Rachelle stood and watched Mercer’s brows furrow as he read over the papers, just as confused by the discovery as the rest of them.

“So Amsel wasn’t the only one betraying us today then?” was all he said before handing the papers back to Brynjolf. He then turned his attention to Amsel. “You want to explain those papers then?”

“I can’t,” Rachelle answered truthfully. She didn’t understand why he and Brynjolf both seemed sure she’d have an answer. The former believed with her background in fraud she could shed some light, but she wasn’t exactly an expert in the subject.

Mercer glanced past her at the rest of the Guild watching them. “What are you standing around for?” he snapped. “Get the hell back to work or head to the Flagon. We’ve got business to discuss.”

Rachelle didn’t turn to look, but she would be the whole of the group with the exceptions of Vex scattered, not daring to eavesdrop. Mallory would have stuck around if he had been there to start with, but Rachelle had a good feeling he was drunk off his ass at the Flagon already, celebrating her being taken down a peg.

“There,” Mercer said, turning back to her. “We’re alone now, so whatever you’re hiding you can tell us. Why’d you go running off on us, Amsel? I thought we had a good deal with you going. You make us money, we don’t hand you over to the authorities for whatever you’re on the run from.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a deal,” she answered, her voice shaking despite her desperate attempt to stay calm.

“Will you quit kidding around, Lass?” Brynjolf snapped. “This isn’t some everyday rule-breaking in the Guild. We’re talking about stripping you of your membership at least.”

Rachelle couldn’t even feel the relief of him calling her that stupid nickname once more. Not when her one ounce of safety was about to be stripped away, and by Mercer’s earlier threat she’d say he knew much more about her past criminal activities than he let on.

“I’m honestly confused why we’re even debating her staying,” came a cool voice from behind. So Rachelle was right. Vex had stayed.

“Because it’s not that simple,” Brynjolf answered. He sounded exhausted. 

“Seems simple enough,”  Vex retorted, coming up to stand at Rachelle’s side, examining her with such scrutiny Rachelle made a mental note to never take the bed closest to Vex again if she wanted to wake up. Mercer, of course, did nothing to curb the debate or ease the tension, just watched with a vague sense of curiosity. “She betrayed us, stole from us—”

“Just because your pride is hurt doesn’t mean we’re throwing the Guild’s laws out the window,” Brynjolf snapped back.

Vex was now eye to eye with Brynjolf, and Rachelle was sure if Mercer hadn't been there the Nord's accusation would have landed his ass in the water without a second thought.

“Just because she’s got you tricked with those big brown eyes doesn’t mean the rest of us are so stupid,” she hissed.

“I’m not falling for anything, Vex.”

“Really? Then who’s to say she wasn’t able to get in because she was pals with the old man?”

“Amsel killed the old man!” Brynjolf practically yelled. The truth rang throughout the Cistern, echoing off the stone walls. Rachelle flinched, but couldn’t help but be grateful he had said it to distract from how tantalizingly close Vex had been to the truth. Aringoth didn’t open the gates for her now, but he had long ago and that is what made all the difference. If he hadn’t been allied with her father he’d still be alive.

Mercer was the only one who seemed unphased by the news. He just leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the desk, letting the revelation settle in the air before taking a breath and breaking the silence.

“Well now, that does change things I suppose,” he said as if this development was amusing more than anything.

“How?” Vex snapped. “That just proves Brynjolf should have left her for dead on the road. The city guard will have our heads for this.”

Mercer shook his head. “Oh, they aren’t going to care about Aringoth dead or alive. Never paid his taxes and just sold Goldenglow right from under Maven’s nose.”

“He what!?”

“Maybe next time know all the information before trying to have me killed,” Rachelle croaked, hoping to remind them of her presence with a joke.

“Should you be talking?” Vex said, fuming and whipping back to face her. But Rachelle stood her ground. Things were going much better than she had anticipated and she was not about to let Vex see how fearful she had been. She wasn’t going to lose the little bit of dignity she had built that she had left.

“Stand down, Vex,” Mercer ordered. “Amsel here just saved our best customer quite a bit of money. With Aringoth dead there’s no need for her to call the Dark Brotherhood and she can spend the money on us tracking down whoever he sold the honey farms too.”

“The papers don’t say?” Rachelle asked with honest curiosity. Brynjolf hadn’t let her look at the sales since he had discovered the truth.

“Oh no it does,” Mercer said, holding the papers out for her to see.

She limped the two extra steps and had to bend over to read them with her hands still bound. Sure enough, within the first paragraph, it mentioned a Honeybrew Meadery just outside Whiterun, but then there was something next to it. An odd symbol Rachelle didn’t recognize. She furrowed her brow as she examined it. It wasn’t thieves cant or any rune language she had seen during her education. She looked at Mercer, hoping for an explanation.

“What is that?”

“Ah,” he said, pulling the papers back. “Here I was hoping our fraudster would know.”

“You don’t then?” Brynjolf asked, disappointment creeping into his words.

She shook her head.

“Don’t people like you usually have signatures?” Vex prodded. “Marks to let others recognize your work, appreciate it when you fake some stupid piece of art or something.”

“Yes, but I worked with trade ledgers,” Rachelle explained. They knew enough about her background that wouldn’t give too much away. Even then, secrets almost got her killed. Letting them know some of her past couldn’t hurt, just open up a wider variety of half-truths next time she needs them.

“Not all frauds work or live in the lap of luxury. Besides, you don’t want to leave a mark on a document like this. It would be too easy to spot, and if the contract gets voided you don’t get paid.”

“Trade ledgers?” Brynjolf asked. He sounded almost hurt. “You drank when I said insurance fraud.”

“Well I falsified trade ledgers for the caravans companies hired me to rob,” she explained, not bothering to point out that those companies were often owned or partnered with her father. “I made sure there weren't discrepancies between what I took for the black market and what they turned in for insurance purposes. Otherwise, they wouldn’t get the coverage and I didn’t get my pay.” 

The three thieves watched her for a moment as if her skill set seemed to finally make sense. Mercer was the only one who seemed unsurprised, but rather like he was just fitting another piece into a very complex puzzle. She bit her tongue, realizing she was possibly being too flip with the information rather than too secretive. She had to find the balance.

“A smart business model,” he said. “I’m assuming the black market profit—”

“Split seventy-thirty,” she finished. “It was supposed to be an even fifty, but I had to pay my own men somehow.”

She couldn’t help but notice Vex’s slight nod of approval despite her anger. Good, let the members remember

“Well no matter how profitable you were back then,” Mercer said back to his normally unimpressed demeanor. “It doesn’t help us with this symbol.”

“You don’t have any leads?” Brynjolf asked, genuinely shocked.

Mercer shook his head. “But I’ll have some soon enough. In the meantime, it’s business as usual. We take whatever jobs come this way, and if it crops up again we dig. For now, we’re just lucky that we’re still getting paid, possibly extra thanks to Amsel’s panic.” On that, Mercer shot her a wink and headed off to the exit.

“What about the traitor?” Vex called after him.

“Brynjolf hired her,” Mercer called back, not bothering to stop. “Let him deal with her.”

“Ugh, I need a drink,” Vex said before leaving Brynjolf and Rachelle alone.

The second she heard the door out of the cistern click shut, Rachelle collapsed onto the filthy ground. She was too exhausted to care about the slick sludge coating it. Within twenty-four hours she had killed a man, been chased down by the Guild, was beaten and bruised, and escaped an execution  _ again _ . It was a miracle she had lasted this long at all.

“So,” she sighed, looking up at Brynjolf who was still standing with his arms crossed and glaring down at her. “What’s my punishment.”

“Do you even appreciate how lucky you are right now?”

“Honestly, I’m too exhausted. Mercer didn’t kill me. I’ll care more tomorrow.”

“You’ll care now,” he said and pulled her off the ground. The sudden movement brought stars to her eyes and she lost the little balance she had left and fell directly into Brynjolf. He had to catch her before she knocked them both back into the sewage.

She looked up at him, her face inches from his, and smirked. He didn’t look nearly as amused by the situation.

“So can I stay seated or are you just going to hold me till the morning?” She teased.

Brynjolf let her go and turned away before she could see his face flush, but the back of his neck showed just enough of a blush to let her know she had won the round. While he composed himself she shuffled over to the nearest bed and fell back onto it. She could have fallen asleep right then and there if he hadn’t turned back to her ready to talk business.

“You’ll be doing in town jobs indefinitely,” he said, though he didn’t sound so sure. “And only get half the pay of normal rates for the next month.”

“Fine by me,” she answered, hoping that was the end of it and she could sleep. But then… “Wait you’re just punishing yourself.”

“So far recruiting you seems like punishment for something, yes, but what does that have to do with your pay?”

“I lost the bet. You’re supposed to get my pay for the month. I’m not having everyone think I’m a cheat  _ and _ a fraud.” One embarrassment was enough.

“I was only half. I guessed insurance fraud.”

“Yes, and that’s what I worked in.”

“I wouldn’t say trade ledgers and robbing caravans are quite the same as falsifying insurance policies.”

“That’s a technicality. It was for insurance purposes.”

“Well I don’t want to be called a cheat on a technicality,” he said, making it clear the debate was done. “Just accept half pay and move on. I’ll just take the other half of your pay, anyways.”

So that was it. Rather anticlimactic when Rachelle thought about it. She stays in Riften and still gets paid? Not much of a punishment.

“Alright,” she finally said after a moment of silence. “But can I ask for one little favor.”

“You aren’t really in a position for favors, Amsel,” he said curtly.

So they still weren’t back to Lass full time. It hurt more than she expected, and she didn’t like that. Still, she moved on.

“Nothing major, just want to be able to sleep comfortably,” she said, holding her bound wrists up. Cut me free?”

“Shit.”

“You forgot.”

“It’s a possibility,” he answered, pulling his dagger out and kneeling in front of her to cut the ropes.

Silence fell between them as he worked. He had tied the rope a little too well. Not that she blamed him, she had a knack for getting out of tight spaces after all. She sat there watching him chew on his lower lip, a tick she had noticed he had whenever he was trying to concentrate. He was sawing at the last rope when she finally spoke up.

“Are we going to be alright?” she asked, quiet enough that for a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her, but when the final rope fell away and she flexed her injured wrist he answered.

“I’m not sure.” No further explanation. Just those words that hung in the air even as he got up and left her alone.

Rachelle flopped back onto the bed. It didn’t take long for the darkness of sleep to creep in, but not before she thought that maybe the pay cut wasn’t going to be the real punishment after all.


End file.
